Peanut Butter Wars  A Mouth of Babes tale
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Is all peanut butter the same?  That's what Illya aims to figure out.  Written by special request *you know who you are...*


Illya Kuryakin pushed the grocery cart and sighed. Why was it that out of three hundred carts, he always got one with a wonky wheel? This one constantly wanted to pull left, something that didn't make his hip very happy.

Ginny, on the other hand was securely strapped into the small seat the cart provided, and giggling as she wobbled from side to side. Illya decided that, as long as one of them was happy, maybe it wasn't that bad. At least she was having a good time, even if he wasn't.

Peter had run up ahead of Illya and was staring at the rows of cereal with all the concentration that a wine connoisseur would give his wine selection. Inessa walked slowly beside her grandfather, studying the different colored floor tiles as if trying to work out some sort of code. Until she did, she stepped only on the white tiles, hopping sure footedly from one to the next.

Peter returned and held a brightly-colored box up to his maternal grandfather. "Poppy, let's get this one!"

"Is the first ingredient sugar?"

The boy turned the box around until he found the listing. "Yes," he announced proudly.

"Put it back."

"But, Poppy, this will give me energy!" He turned the box over. "And lots of nu-tri-ents for my muscles… those are good, right?"

"You don't need energy; you need something to slow you down. Find something that has a sleeping aid as the first ingredient and I'll happily buy it for you."

His face glum, Peter trudged back to the shelf to return the box. He half turned, the box held high. "But…"

"Put it back, Peter."

"Poppy?" Inessa patted Illya's leg carefully, even though it was his good one.

"Yes, Inessa?" He glanced over and down at her. Her face was wrinkled with concentration and concern.

"What happens if you step red, red, green, and then white?" She studied him seriously and Illya fought to keep a smile from his lips.

He bent down, close to her ear, and she rose up on tiptoes in return. "The store blows up, so don't do it while we're in here, okay?"

Her eyes got very round and she looked around nervously. "Will we be all right?"

"If we're very fast, we should be fine." Illya straightened up slowly and consulted the list that Lisle had handed him. "Why don't you go get some peanut butter? And take your brother with you."

"Okay… white, white… blue…" She hopped up to Peter, who had selected another cereal, and grabbed his free hand. She whispered something to him and they were off like a shot. Illya chuckled and found the cereal that was on the list.

"It looks like it's just me and you,Ginny," he said, handing her the box to hold. She squealed and hugged it.

"Love you," she announced happily to the box and Illya smiled as he smoothed her long brunette curls.

"You are Napoleon's granddaughter and I'm certain that it loves you too, _dushinka._" Grocery shopping was not Illya's idea of a good time. He'd rarely done it as a young man. His job made keeping a larder full impossible and it was just as easy to buy things as he needed or wanted them.

Now the practicality was to shop regularly, especially with five growing children. He was amazed at how much the children ate; it certainly was much more than he and his siblings had ever eaten growing up. It was almost a daily chore now and it was only fair that he take his turn at it. He didn't hate grocery shopping – there were just so many choices.

Ginny suddenly dropped the box, then instantly reached down for it with her good hand.

"Go boom, P."

"Yes, Ginny, it did." Illya grunted as he started to bend over.

A hand reached for the box at the same time and he looked into the eyes of a young cashier. He smiled his most disarming smile at her in thanks as he straightened.

"Thank you." Her cheeks blossomed with color and she lowered her eyes shyly.

"I haven't seen you here before." She held out her fingers to Ginny, who grinned happily as she reached for the box, her fingers clutching the air madly.

"Love you!"

She laughed, handing Ginny back the box of cereal. "You are usually with your mommy." She looked Illya up and down, taking in the jeans and polo shirt that he wore with a practiced eye. "Your… wife?"

Illya's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head, smiling. "You flatter me. Daughter."

"Poppy, we're having a crisis of faith!" Inessa announced loudly as she marched up.

"Another one? And so early in the day?" Other shoppers paused in their task and Illya inwardly sighed.

The cashier waved as she left, continuing towards the back of the store. She swerved at the last minute to avoid being run down by Peter, who had his arms full of jars.

"I asked for one jar of peanut butter," Illya said. "Why did you pick so many?"

"'Cuz I like Skippy," Peter said, glaring at his twin.

"That's stupid, Jif is better… but Daddy likes Peter Pan… and Grampy says that Mom's Old Fashioned is the best… and Mommy says she doesn't care as long as it shuts us up."

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. "For all the times either of them eats peanut butter, I don't think Grampy or your father cares..." Illya accepted the jar she held out to him. "Basically, they are all the same."

"No, they're not!" Peter gasped, wrapingd his arms about the jars protectively. "This one is the best! It has the most funnest commercials. It's perfect – I love it!" His voice was growing in volume.

"And that would make me buy something?" Illya pulled out his glasses and scanned the ingredients on one jar and then the next. "Sorry to disappoint you, but they are pretty much all the same."

"You gotta taste them, Poppy," Inessa's voice grew louder. "Choosy mothers choose Jiff! Aren't you a choosy mother?"

"Not the last time I checked."

"Skippy is better for peanut butter and bacon sandwiches!"

"Peanut butter and bacon?" Illya was truly mystified. "I thought it was peanut butter and jelly."

"Poppy, that's so 1960's." Inessa shot back. "Jif doesn't make your bread rip and it has a nice swirl on the top."

"It does too. If you press hard enough!"

"No!"

Illya was aware that the small crowd had gotten bigger. Whether it was because of Ginny, who'd gotten the box of cereal open and was working handfuls of cereal into her hair, or the shouting match between brother and sister, Illya wasn't sure. He did know it was time to take control.

"_Остановитесь! Ведите себя непосредственно_ (Stop! Behave yourselves)" he said firmly and in a tone that told the squabbling twins he meant business.

There was a lull as each twin gauged him to see how much farther they could push. Illya took the box from Ginny.

"No, Ginny, we don't bathe in cereal." He put the torn box in the cart well away from her and turned to get a non-damaged box from the shelf.

She started to mew, then hiccup, a precursor to an all out temper tantrum. He turned and stared at her full in the face and shook his head slowly with 'that look' in his eyes. Ginny's bottom lip trembled, but she didn't cry.

"No love," she muttered and slapped the cart's handle.

"I can live with that." He dropped the cereal into the cart and continued on his way. He'd deal with the peanut butter issue in a few moments, once everyone had calmed down.

Lisle slowly unloaded the bags of groceries. It was always a challenge when one of the men went shopping; although her dad usually was pretty good about sticking to her list. Even he was a lost cause when it came to the cookie aislethough. She set the Malomars aside and reached inside the bag again. She pulled out yet another jar of peanut butter and set it down on the counter, shaking her head.

Napoleon's happy whistle preceded him by a few seconds. He entered the kitchen and took a deep breath. "Something smells good in here." He paused to give his daughter-in-law a peck on the cheek. "Oh, it's you."

"At least I know your son comes by his silvered tongue honestly," Lisle murmured. "Dad took the kids shopping so I actually had time to take a bath this afternoon."

"It's good that you are getting some work out of him."

"Is Dad… okay?" Her voice was slowly measured, as if asking a question to which she feared the answer.

Napoleon frowned and eyed her. Illya was currently working half days now at UNCLE HQ, a necessary evil as he recovered from yet more surgery. With his usual stubbornness, Illya announced his intention of returning to work the minute he was able to ditch the walker for his cane.

This time, however, the surgeon could only be pushed so far, as Illya found out, and he'd reluctantly agreed to limit the time he spent at the office. Napoleon knew his partner would use anything as an excuse to get back to work. He also knew that once Illya stepped over the threshold, nothing would make him leave any sooner than he chose to… until he met Dr. Ricks.

The first day Illya had waved away his driver and continued to work. Dr. Ricks showed up with a syringe and an ultimatum. Leave or sleep. Illya resisted and ended up spending the night in Medical, unconscious. That ended up with Illya abiding by the four hours a day limit, for about a week.

The next time Illya resisted, the doctor reappeared with the hypo. It had been interesting and Section Three eventually had to be called in, but Illya reluctantly left.

Once he found out resistance was futile, Illya began leaving when he was supposed to. It didn't keep him from bringing a briefcase full of work home, but grandchildren often saw to the incompletion of that.

To fill his afternoons, Illya helped with the home schooling of his grandchildren and occasionally ran errands, like gorcery shopping.

"He seemed okay when I saw him at work this morning. Why are you asking?"

"Yesterday, he ironed…" Lisle shook her head at the memory. "That was an unfortunate exercise."

"Did he ruin something?"

"Have you ever had your panties ironed?"

"I can't say that I have, sweetheart." Napoleon grinned at the thought. "I'm not much of the panty wearing type though."

"It's a little weird. I mean I love him and he's my father…. But having him ironing my under things was a bit…"

"I imagine it was." Napoleon held up a jar of peanut butter. "I'd ask if there was a sale on this, but these are all different brands."

"And this one…" Lisle took yet another jar of peanut butter out of a grocery sack and sighed. "Makes seven in all, and all different brands. I don't know what he was thinking…"

"And now you know the glory that is your father, for I'm sure he has a very good and perfectly reasonable explanation."

"I'm just worried that maybe all this staying at home has…started to negatively affect him."

"Let's go find out."

Illya looked up over the top of his glasses as Napoleon and Lisle entered the family room. He was sitting on the couch, a twin on either side of him.

"_Un chat et une souris ont voulu vivre ensemble et garder la maison comme unpartenariat. Ils ont préparé à l'hiver en achetant un pot de gras, et parce qu'ils n'a pas eu d'endroit plus sûr pour lui, ils l'ont placé sous le change dans l'église jusqu'à ce que tel temps qu'ils auraient besoin de lui. Toutefois, un jour que le chat a pris un désir pour lui, et a approché la souris (_A cat and a mouse wanted to live together and keep house as a partnership. They prepared for winter by buying a pot of fat, and because they had no safer spot for it, they placed it under the altar in the church until such time that they would need it. However, one day the cat took a longing for it, and approached the mouse)." Illya paused in his reading and glanced up at them. "Is there a problem?"

"Grimm's Fairy Tales, is it?" Napoleon had turned his head slightly to read the title of the book. "Why French?"

"Why not?"

"Grampy!" The twins chorused and bolted off the couch to collect a hug from him as he bent over.

"We're having a war!" Peter announced proudly, wrapping his arms around his grandfather's neck. "I'm a general."

"I'm the explosive ordinance officer!" Inessa's chest swelled with six-year-old pride.

"And to think other children have no idea what that is." Napoleon collected them in his arms and lifted them both off the ground.

"Howcomewhynot?" Peter ran the words into one.

Napoleon grinned and let the two go. "Partner, could I see you for a moment?"

"Of course." Illya leveraged himself to his feet and handed the book to Inessa. "Your turn."

She jumped back onto the couch and waited for her brother to join her. Napoleon led the way back into the hall even as Inessa began to slowly read out loud.

"What's wrong?" Illya kept his voice down, just in case it was business.

"Your daughter thinks you've lost it."

"What exactly is 'it' and why?"

"She is wondering as to why you brought home seven jars of peanut butter."

"Peter told you - we are engaged in war."

"War?"

"Peanut butter war." Illya walked towards the kitchen, the trace of a limp announcing the end of a long day. "We were at the grocery store and they began to argue over which brand was the best. After dinner, we are going to put them to the test."

"After dinner?"

"Before and Lisle would have my guts for garters. No matter what Angelique might have contributed to her birth, she is still **my **daughter."

Lisle suddenly appeared at the kitchen door, her brow furrowed. "Dad, didn't you buy meat?"

"I put it in the refrigerator to keep the dog away from it." It was still a mystery how the small beagle managed to leap up onto the kitchen counter and drag away a $15 roast, but Illya wasn't taking the chance… this time.

"Thanks." She started to turn and Napoleon cleared his throat.

"Lisle, in answer to your question, it's war."

"War?"

"Peanut butter war…"

"Please let it be less of a mess than that Boston Tea Party fiasco was…" She retreated back into the kitchen.

"Drink?" Napoleon changed course and led the way into the small study off the family room. This was an 'adults only' room and because of that, the floor was littered with toys, comic books, clothes and anything else the children could drag in here and abandon. "You know, just once I'm tempted to return the favor and drag a bunch of our things into the play room." Napoleon stepped over one of Alex's engines and walked to the bar. "Speaking of such, the older kids are where?"

"Miss Pam and Miss Stephanie arranged an overnight trip into the City for their pupils. They are staying the night at a hotel and then tomorrow they are visiting the zoo and the Museum of Natural History. Alex was beside himself when he learned there would be dinosaurs involved. Irina was delighted because someone told her there are horses in Central Park."

"What is it about little girls and horses?" Napoleon poured two fingers of scotch into one glass and added some ice from the small refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of vodka from inside and poured a generous amount into a second glass. He carried them to the couch where Illya was sitting.

"You're asking me? Last I checked I was not a little girl. Cheers." Illya accepted his glass and took a swallow of the vodka, eyes closed in pleasure as it slid down his throat. _"Bon."_

"Sounds odd, using French to describe vodka." Napoleon sipped his and nodded as he settled beside his long-time partner. "But I agree, _bon. _Now, about this war..."

"A simple taste test. The twins insist they can tell the difference between one peanut butter and the other. I say they can't."

"And the winner gets?"

"The opportunity to say "I told you so" and eternal servitude."

"Like they don't already have that." Napoleon sipped again. "How are you feeling?"

"Another one of these and I will be fine." Illya wiggled painfully, drawing a look of concern from Napoleon until Illya retrieved a large plastic horse from behind the sofa cushions and held it up. "One guess as to why this is hidden in the cushions of this sofa."

"Did you torment your sisters the way Alex torments his?"

"I was much worse. It's amazing that they never ganged up on me and gave me the beating I deserved." Illya massaged his temples. "Or perhaps that's why I now have grandchildren."

"Siblings are funny like that." They sat in relative quiet for a few moments. "So this war? Observers?"

"Absolutely, to be sure that the playing field is level."

"I can't wait." Napoleon held up his glass. "To the best man."

Napoleon took a quick photo, just as a reference for this momentous moment. Lined up on the table were seven luncheon sacks, a jar of peanut butter hidden in each. In front of each bag, there was a small bowl with a generous dollop of peanut butter in it.

Leon had donned a black and white shirt in honor of the match. He was the only one who knew which peanut butter was in which bag and he was beyond reproach.

Napoleon dipped his finger into a bowl and Leon chastised him. "Chief, you are worse than the kids. Does everyone have their spoons and their celery?"

The twins, Lisle, and Napoleon happily held up their spoons; Illya wasn't as quick. The first time he'd had peanut butter was at Survival School and it had been a thick, viscous paste that had coated his mouth and throat for hours afterwards. He'd been willing to sit this part out, but the twins, and Napoleon, had insisted.

"Okay, bag A," Leon announced and held the bowl up. Spoon after spoon dipped into it and Illya reluctantly put his tiny amount in his mouth and froze almost instantly.

"What's wrong, Illya?" Napoleon was happily sucking on his spoon.

"This is peanut butter?" He took another taste. "This tastes nothing like the peanut butter we had on the island."

"Just one more reason to call it Survival School," Leon said, his own mind wandering back to the hideous garbage that had been passed off there as food. "And now the celery."

Illya scooped more up this time and crunched happily into the mouthful. "This is good."

"Slow down there, Cowboy. You still have another six to try."

"As you have pointed out on many occasions, Napoleon, I have enormous capacity."

Napoleon paused at the bathroom door and winced. It truly sounded as if Illya was trying to vomit up his toes. He walked to the linen closet in their small apartment and dug through the contents of one shelf until he found a clean towel and washcloth.

He paused before the bathroom door and tapped. "Illya, are you alive?"

"There's no one living in here," a barely-recognizable voice croaked back. Napoleon entered as the toilet was flushing. Illya was on the floor, leaning against the opposite wall, looking wan.

"You're looking pretty green there, my friend." Napoleon wet the washcloth and tossed it to him. Then he opened the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of Pepto-Bismal. "Take some of this. It should settle your stomach." He squatted beside the blond and studied him closely.

"No thanks, the thought of swallowing anything right now is not appealing, much less something bright pink." Illya's voice was muffled by the washcloth. "_дерьмо."_

"If you're swearing, you really are sick." Napoleon placed his hand on Illya's forehead. "You're also running a fever. I'd say you finally caught that flu that everyone else had about a month ago." Napoleon opened the bottle and held it out to him. "Come on, take a swig and let's get you to bed."

"The war? Who won?" Illya drank and winced at the taste. He tipped his head back to rest it on the edge of the bath tub.

"Would you believe Lisle?" Napoleon stood and helped Illya to his feet. "Neither of the twins could tell one from the other. When I left them, Peter was insisting Lisle fry up some bacon…"

"Napoleon, please, by the name of all you hold dear, do not finish that sentence," Illya whispered.

"Gotcha." He helped Illya to his feet and into his bedroom. He waited for Illya to shrug out of his robe and draped it over the foot of the bed. "Just tuck yourself in there and get some rest. The worst of it is behind you now."

"Meaning no more vomiting?"

"Meaning the diarrhea should be starting soon."

"Thanks, partner." Illya rolled the sheets and blankets around himself and shivered.

"I'll go get you another quilt. " Napoleon walked back into the main part of their small shared apartment just as the equivalent to their front door opened.

"Grampy?" It was Inessa. "Is it safe to enter?"

"Yes, sweetheart?" He watched her and Peter enter slowly.

"Is Poppy going to die from eating all that peanut butter?"

"No, he'll only wish he would. He should be fine by tomorrow."

"We're sorry the peanut butter made him sick."

"It wasn't the peanut butter, sweetheart, it was just bad timing."

"Wow, that's a relief." Peter ran towards the bedroom and it was then that Napoleon caught a familiar smell, that of bacon.

"Peter, NO!"

But it was too late and he closed his eyes at the sound of Illya vomiting and the squeal of disgust from the twins. Sighing, he collected a basin of water and some clean sheets.

"Well, you know what they say, old man," he told his reflection in the hall mirror. "In every war there are casualties and the innocent always suffer…"


End file.
